viii.
"Father?"
Chrom looked up from the multitude of papers on his desk to see Morgan at the doorway. The Exalt of Ylisse's eyes had slight bags underneath them, and his hair was a bit disheveled.
"What is it, Morgan?" he asked, glancing back toward his reports.
"O-oh, if you're busy...," Morgan muttered, backing out of the room.
"No, no, I'm never too busy for you," Chrom said, turning his full attention toward his son. "What is it?"
Morgan could feel his cheeks heating up. He stood in the doorway and played with his hands. Finally he blurted: "How do you talk to girls?"
Chrom's brow furrowed, his tired eyes not lighting up with realization. "Like you talk to everyone else in the camp...?"
"N-no, I mean...," Morgan searched for words. "...How do you talk to girls?"
The prince blinked. "Oh." He paused, really considering the situation. "I don't know if I'm the person you should be asking - but for that matter, don't go to Inigo."
Morgan pouted. "But you got Mother to marry you."
Chrom laughed a little. "Trust me, that didn't happen because of any eloquence on my part. I'm surprised she even said yes to me."
"But she did, so you must have done something right, right?" Morgan held onto the doorframe and leaned further into the room, forgetting for a moment about why he'd come in the first place. "How'd it all happen, anyway? I mean, if you ever told me, I forgot about it - tell me!"
His father coughed a little and his face flushed. "Maybe when you're older."
"But I'm older now!"
"Ha ha, nice try," Chrom said flatly. He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. "So, what's brought all this on? You don't usually worry about - well, anything."
Morgan seemed to shrink a little bit. "W-well... Has Mother ever gotten mad at you?"
His father chuckled. "More times than I can count."
"So it's normal?"
"Of course. But you learn how to work through things, and how to avoid certain things that might make your mother too mad..." Chrom frowned slightly after a moment. "So what did you do, exactly?"
"Well... I told Severa her soup was kinda - "
His father sat up straight. "S-Severa?"
Morgan's cheeks heated up. "Y-yeah. Why?"
"It's just," Chrom said, searching for words. "I wouldn't have thought she was your...type."
He became even more red. "I'm not even, you know, sure, Father. I just wanted some advice."
"Well..." The man exhaled and frowned. "Be...yourself? Don't get her angry? If it's meant to be, it'll happen...?" He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Morgan."
"No, no, it's okay," he said quickly. "You tried."
"Is there anything else you need?"
He thought for a moment, then grinned. "I'm older now."
"For the love of Naga - !"
()()()
Morgan sits beside the stream, watching the skies as Sumia leads her newfound pegasus through light drills. The Shepherds found the ornery creature on their march that day; only Sumia could calm it down and tend to its thankfully minute injuries. The pegasus is even more gorgeous than Morgan remembers, and a sudden lump forms in his throat when he thinks of Cynthia.
He busies himself with eating the apple in his hands. He tries to lose himself in the action and in the sight of the sunset reflecting in the water, but it's impossible. He's thinking about the future children now.
Finally, through sheer, angry will, Morgan forces himself to his feet and heads back to camp. The Shepherds are all either cleaning up from dinner or finishing training. Morgan ignores them all and heads toward Chrom's tent. It's larger than all the other sleeping tents - which Chrom doesn't really approve of - and serves as the base of operations on the small trips the Shepherds have gone on so far in their career.
Morgan knocks on one of the poles keeping the tent upright, and a moment later Frederick opens the flap. Inside are Robin and Chrom, both leaning over a map of the continent.
"Ah, hello," Chrom says, and Robin adds, "What brings you here?"
Morgan almost flinches; his mother seems friendly enough on the surface, but there's a guardedness in her eyes that Morgan's only seen rarely. If he wasn't so familiar with her mannerisms, he wouldn't be able to see it.
He does his best to ignore the sight and comes further into the tent. "We need to discuss how we are going to approach the khans, and what we are going to request."
"We have been," Frederick says, uptight as ever. He lets the tent flap fall closed and approaches the desk. "Regna Ferox is a nation of upfront people, to put it lightly."
"While it's risky, once we make an alliance we put all cards on the table," Robin explains. "So we'll need you, Mark, to answer questions they may have."
Again, he thinks tiredly. "Of course." He takes a breath and stands up straighter. "I...refrained from mentioning this to Exalt Emmeryn, but the wisest course of action for the near future is to request aid from Ferox's standing army, at the very least to remain in Ylisse territory for a time."
"The standing army?" Robin repeats at the same time Frederick questions, "Why would you withhold such knowledge from Her Grace?!"
Morgan holds back a grimace. "I was afraid the Exalt would not listen to my reason. Her...style is to abhor all violence. I wished to appeal to you first," he finishes, looking to Chrom.
The prince frowns. "I understand where you're coming from, Mark. But are you saying we won't be able to hold back the Risen, or is it Plegia you're concerned with?"
"Plegia is prodding at the border already," Morgan points out. "And with Lucina's whereabouts unknown, it's vital we have support at the ready."
He has to force her name past his lips, and he notices the twitching of Robin's hands, which are covered by fingerless gloves.
"At the very least, the standing army would cause even Plegia to think twice about it's current actions," Morgan continues, but before he can add on, Chrom puts up a hand to silence him.
"I'll ask the khans to prepare a force," the prince says slowly. "But they can't enter Ylisse without Emmeryn's permission. I'll write to Emm." He gives Morgan a bit of a helpless smile. "I agree with you wholeheartedly, Mark, but I'm not the Exalt."
Not yet, Morgan thinks, but immediately hates himself for it. He nods.
"If we want a response by the time we reach the capital - or around then - we need to send Sumia back to Ylisstol with her new pegasus," Robin says.
"I don't want her going by herself," Chrom replies.
Morgan looks expectantly toward Frederick, waiting for the knight to volunteer to escort his wife, but instead the man says, "Milord, might I suggest Virion? His longer range attacks would compliment her in the air, and his equipment is light enough not to slow her mount."
"Excellent idea, Frederick," Chrom says, but Morgan barely hears because he's mentally reminding himself that Frederick and Sumia aren't married yet. Gods, not one of the Shepherds are married yet.
"By pegasus, it should only take them two days to reach Ylisstol at most," Robin says after consulting the map. "They'll have to go through the border guard to get into Ferox, but when we get there tomorrow we'll leave the Feroxi with instructions to let them in."
"They'll also have Emm's seal," Chrom adds.
Robin nods. "So it's settled."
Morgan clears his throat. All of a sudden he just can't be in the same space as his parents. "If this has been taken care of, then I'll take my leave for the night."
He remembers to bow slightly, then turns toward the tent flap. Someone begins to say something - he's sure it's Chrom - but he leaves.
()()()
Cynthia is grinning at him. "Wanna take a ride on my pegasus?"
He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Cynthia pushes him playfully and suddenly he sits in a saddle, watching as the ground gets smaller and smaller. He panics and grabs tight to the girl in front of him; she turns her head around, glaring.
"You're such a wimp," Severa says. "Suck it up already."
You're a pegasus knight? he thinks, but all at once the sky becomes blacker and blacker and Morgan knows something isn't right.
Lightning splits the sky apart. The pegasus squeals, dropping from the air, and Morgan pulls himself and Severa from the saddle. He can't see how far away the ground is, so he keeps screeching wind spells at the top of his lungs.
The tumble onto the earth, crying out - Severa screaming like he's never heard from her. There's a blur and he sees Cynthia darting in, Owain beside her, weapons in hand. Morgan wants to join them in battle, to protect all he has left, but when he hears the mad laughter he becomes motionless.
The Mark of Grima shines in the darkness, and Flachion flashes -
"Severa!"
He lurches to a sitting position and wildly looks around, searching the space around him for his companions. It's dark. He's panting and can't hear anything besides the roaring heartbeat in his ears. He's sweating under mask, sweating all over his body -
There's a rustle, and the tent flap opens. Moonlight reflects off the woman's silver-white ponytail and the golden threads on her coat.
"What's wrong?" Robin asks, almost sharply, like she's half-expecting to find a Risen.
Relief floods Morgan's adrenaline-fueled veins and he exhales. "Mother - "
He stops, eyes widening behind his mask.
"What was that scream for?!" Suddenly Frederick is there at the entrance beside Robin. He must sleep in his armor, because all that's off about his appearance is his bedhead. He holds a short sword in his hand.
"Are we being attacked?" Now it's Chrom speaking, but he's not in view.
"No," Robin says, turning her head to the prince. "It was a nightmare."
Frederick furrows his brows. "Is that all?" he asks Morgan.
"I... I apologize," Morgan says, barely loud enough. His mind is reeling. "I... will try to keep it from happening again."
Did I really call her 'Mother'? Did she hear me?
There's a relieved chuckle from Chrom and he appears, putting a hand on Frederick's shoulder. "We all have bad dreams sometimes. Let's just get back to sleep."
Frederick remains frowning, but somehow the expression deepens. "Vaike is supposed to be on watch, yet he hasn't come running. I'll go check up on him." He walks away.
"He's probably sleeping," Chrom calls after him, but not loudly. He smiles and glances toward Morgan, and the boy can't help but feel like a small child. "I'll let you get some sleep, Mark. Rest well."
The prince retreats to his tent, and Robin moves to close the tent flap behind her. Morgan opens his mouth but says nothing. He doesn't know if Robin catches sight, but she pauses, then pokes back in.
"You said something to me, didn't you?" she asks quietly, but not softly. She's frowning, or at least he thinks she is; it's hard to see in the dim light.
"Ah," he says, trying to feign embarrassment in place of panic. "I'm afraid I was still confused from the dream. I apologize again."
"No worries," Robin says. Her voice becomes joking and playful on the surface, but it's laced with seriousness that Morgan wouldn't have been able to pick up if he wasn't her son. "So long as you remember I'm not anyone's mother."
Without another word, she leaves.
Just a reminder that this Robin isn't the Robin we know at all, so...
I really should sit down and make a plan for this story. I really like this a lot...